The Nameless
by nat13cat
Summary: The war rages on. It is fought by valiant men who lay down their lives in a cause not their own. They do not have a lightsaber or a seat in Coresant. They live and they die with nothing. They are born to war, they live war, and they die for war.
1. Chapter 1

The trooper stood among his brothers. There was the thunder of marching feet as the thousands of copies exited the hanger. All their armor was bright and clean, still white, unmarred by battle and death. Or the paint of your squadron. This trooper, we will call T64 for ease. His real number it too long. He never got a name. They just rushed him and his brothers into battle before their time. He had much less training than the clones that came a year before. Even less than last months, all of whom had been decimated in one of the battles a week ago. The name escaped him at the moment. T64 remained silent as his brothers chatted through their helmets communication systems. Some gazed at the Jedi below with awe. The famous general Skywalker stood their talking to General Kenobi, whose wisdom was esteemed by all. They seemed to be arguing about something. Kenobi remained calmer and reasonably controlled while Skywalker gesticulated. In the end he stormed off to his fighter and took to the air. Chuckles echoed through the ranks as a single body they stopped and saluted Kenobi. He nodded back to them. Anakin's temper had preceded him. The clones were going to be in a full on attack in a standard hour. T64 had no misconceptions on is probability of survival. They were zero to none. He was on the front lines to boot. The first shot from one of the clankers and he was down. Still helped his brothers move crates to build a wall for base. Let his last hours be memorable. They were older clones than him. He and most of his battalion had barely filled out their broad shoulders. They didn't even have time to cut his hair. It was still ear length and wavy. The clones laughed at a joke that would have offended every single female being in this galaxy. He laughed to. It had been funny. A gust of wind blew unaccompanied threw what had once been fields. Now it brought the stench of decay and flakes of ash to his uncovered eyes. He blinked them away blaming the watering of his eyes on that. He didn't really want to die. Did anyone? But in this war there was no other choice. He was bred to die. The republic didn't care what would happen if he lived to see the end of the war. The clones did not get paid now, let alone when the war was over and they had nowhere to go. It's not like the war wasn't going to end. All wars ended right? He found himself frantically trying to remember war history class. It really hadn't been his favorite class. He preferred field medicine. That's why he had the red plus painted on his upper arm. It was done by a robot, the corners perfect and dimensional. Not decorative like many of the troops. It was but a status symbol. A long time ago it would have saved you from death. Opposing troops wouldn't shoot at a medic. Droids couldn't tell the bloody difference. But his thoughts were straying to places he didn't like so he pulled out his blaster and started to clean, leaning against the finished wall. Orders would come soon enough.

"Why are you cleaning that T64?" said one of the more experienced clones sitting on the dust. "It's not as if you've ever shot a clanka," the men chuckled but T64 said nothing. Ditto continued the joke. "You haven't even pulled the trigger on that blaster, let alone shot a droid." T64 looked up from his work then. He pointed the gun at the ground right before Ditto's feet and pulled the trigger.

"Now I have the right it seems to clean my blaster. Which is _mine_ by the way," T64 said with a small smirk and went back to cleaning. A round of snickers went through the group as Ditto had jumped away from the shot.

"Oh you think you're so funny cadet," he put emphasis on the last word. "You won't be laughing when there is no more air in your body and the clankers walk over your armor," and the man stormed off, snatching his helmet from the ground. The rest of the men looked back at the rookie. One with a kinder expression than the average clone spoke.

"Don't listen to that one. He's from a bad batch. Like me I guess," he was right. His voice was different from the rest of the clones T64 had met. It had more of a burr and a hitch in the L's. As if his birth language had not been the same as the rest of us.

"We've all got our problems don't we?" said the clone with the dirtiest armor. The top had black markings on it, a lighting mark on the helmet and black shoulder plates. A circle was on the right breast pad, and half of it was filled in. But if there was detail on the bottom it couldn't be made out through the scratches and dark brown stains. T64 looked back at his face and almost commented on it in surprise. There was a thick purple scar from his cheek bone to his chin. "My leg armor was ruined when we plowed through the acid mud on Vienna. Where I got this," he touches his scar but his eyes are far away. Remembering the battle most likely. He wished he had a battle to remember than one to fear. He doubted he'd ever have a battle to remember.

"I gotta scar too!" says another clone eagerly. "I would show you but it would take too long to get of this armor," the group smiles, knowing how exasperating it is getting in and out of the white suit. It wasn't that hard to tell where the scar would be. There was a burned black hole right above his heart.

"I'm the last clone left from my first squad," says a shave headed clone sadly. "They're the ones who called me Target," they remain silent for a moment. Even T64 who has never lost a close brother knows what it would be like. The pain, the sadness, and the fact you can never really grieve for them. Not when you're a clone. To los of all your squad would be unbearable, T64 thought. Even if we were only together long enough to exchange first numbers or child hood names. He smiles as he recalls Shutter, nicknamed so by one of his instructors for a reason he didn't have time to learn. There's no more time for remembrance though.

"All troops to positions!" a crisp voice yells in all their ears. Booted feet all begin to run. Too early, the attack is coming too early. T64 tucks his cleaning cloth into his medic bag as he runs. Who knows, he might actually need it again.

The ground shakes in an explosion that would have shattered ear drums had they not been wearing helmets. Smoke drifts into the sky, blocking out the massive ring planet this moon belonged to. T64 could already hear the screams. He dashed through the wall and into the battle field. He can see the tanks and just make out the droids with the yellow head bands sitting atop them. He immediately begins blasting at the super droids in the front lines. A blue light saber comes to life within the smoke and droids begin to fall to the ground. Still T64 runs, ducking as another shell explodes above them. The Republic's own heavy artillery begin to pound the enemy and a tank dies with the screech of twisting metal. Now where he's supposed to be T64 falls into training. Nothing clogs his mind but work.

_Shoot at that battle droid. Now at the one behind it. There's their commander. Blast it, miss. Hit the droid coming to far. Hit the deck, another shell. Coast is clear, run in a crouch. There's a rock, use it for cover. Shoot, shoot, shoot. Keep going. Move to your left there's a shot coming. Another at your head. Kenobi is making head way. A brother is down, go tend to him. Head wound, good as dead. Give him the water he asks for. Hold his glove as he dies. Stand up shoot. Again. Another brother down. Arm wound, survivable. Take the plating off. Bacta, tell him to use his other arm to shoot. Blast them yourself. Keep at it! Move forward again. Explosion behind you. Get up on your feet! There's injured clones in there that need you! We're losing, there is too many dead, oh but there is Skywalker and a squadron of fighters. They must have taken care of the Vulture droids. Shoot the super battle droid on your left. Now the three battle droids behind you. Don't look at the severed head at your feet. Help your live brothers. _

The battle rages around T64 but he doesn't care. Only three clones in the vicinity survived that blast and one is grievously injured. He is so focused on taking care of him he doesn't notice the ultra battle droid crawl over the debris and come up behind him. Not until Target appears out of know wear and tackles it. His blaster is missing. Maybe it got shot out of his hand. But T64 can't do anything while they tussle together on the ground for fear of hitting Target by mistake. The clone wins, tearing it's head from the metal shoulders. The man below him is dead now. There really wasn't any hope for him anyway. He throws his blaster to Target and he catches it. They climb out of the crater into a thick smoke cloud. A helmet less trooper with a shoulder wound is coughing and sputtering. He reaches for the helmet that is obviously not his own. I want to warn him but he picks it up and yells throwing it away. The head that looks so much like everyone on the battle field tumbles out with a sickening splat that is so much louder than the rest of the battle. The eyes are open in horror. He is so alive looking it causes the man to vomit right there. Then he wipes his mouth, stands, and continues to shoot. There is a haunted look to his face but this is battle. There is no end to it. A pair of red light sabers glow in the smog and it explains the head. A blue one clashes with them. That is not the clones battle though and Target and T64 push through the dust cloud and into the throng.

A fighter shrieks overhead and plummets into the separatist ranks. T64 checks to make sure it isn't the generals and continues. Blue bolts explode from his pistol. It turns out Target was a sharpshooter, not a droid target. He set up his long distance rifle on the top of a small incline. He takes out droid commander after droid commander, but they still keep coming. He even caught a tactical droid. The separatist base can be seen in the distance. Bombs dropped by the newly arrived pilots explode on the walls. The anti-aircraft missiles still fire. T64 moves between guarding target and helping the injured. He has seen more death here than he ever wished in his whole life. He would grieve later. Right now he was just numb. He cared so much for them all. More than the average clone. That was why he was a medic. He loved them like well, brothers. Even as he held Ditto's hand as he passed from this life.

"Forgive me, forgive me," he mumbles over and over. It was a stomach shot. A slow death not deserved by any.

"I was never mad," T64 says and holds him water to drink. He had tried all he could to save the man. Nothing had worked. He slowly bled out onto the sandy dirt.

"I didn't mean what I said," his lungs rise and fall slower and slower.

"I know," he says. What can you say to a dying man? He gives him more water.

"You think there'll be girls where I'm going?" he says with a small chuckle.

"Lots and lots of Tw'ilec dancing girls," T64 says in his robotic helmet voice.

"That sounds like paradise…" his eyes roll back in his head and he is gone. T64 pulls the helmet over his head as KIA goes up by one. Then it stutters and goes up by 13. T64 makes it back up to Target's hill.

His longest friend crouches with his eye on the scope, blasting away at droids. T64 shoots the one's up close that he can't see. The hill is surrounded my droids. There are three other clones up there and maybe fifty droids total. It was not going to end well. At least his last stand would be with his brothers. They could die together, valiantly protecting one of the few sharp shooters left. Blaster fire roared back and forth. One clone fell with a shot to the head. No need to check him. Another was over whelmed by six droids which were taken out too late. Their numbers were dwindling but they were down to two clones actually engaged in this particular battle. It was too little. T64 kicked Target. He pulled his face away from the scope annoyed, until he saw the droids. He stood up quickly and pulled out his rifle set. A commander. He never even said anything. But what was the point of being a commander without any one to command? The three of them stood back to back as the circle closed in. T64 expected the end. The third clone got the end with six shots in the chest. T64 never even knew his name.

There were maybe ten droids left but it was enough. A red blaster shot hit Target in the shoulder and he dropped one of his pistols. He knew how much damage those type of shots did. Yet he continued to fire with his other arm. There was no time to stop and fix his wound. T64 received a shot in the leg. A blue light saber was rapidly approaching. It arched and sliced through a group of droids, and General Kenobi became visible through the beige air.

"Any last words brother?" Target asked as he caught a shot in the knee. He dropped to them, but still continued to fight. T64's opposite hand got skimmed by red.

"Na, I just hope there are girls where we're going," and they both chuckled. Target went down just as Obi-wan broke through the droids. He made quick work of the eight remaining clankers. But Target was not so lucky. T64 had excepted death. Now to be snatched back from it was the worst possible thing. He now had to live without the brother who took three shots for him in their last battle. Who he had protected because he knew Target was more important than him. Now he was gone. And T64 was going to have to live with that. He cradled the unthinking head in his lap. He wanted to cry but the tears wouldn't come. He pulled the helmet off to see his own face on another. The hair was cut into a swirling pattern like Oceans he had learned about. An artistic expression of a clone he would never know.

"Medic," Kenobi shouted over the rage of battle. T64 turned to him, still on the ground.

"Yes General?" Why couldn't he have come ten seconds faster?

"You are going to be needed," he said. The words confused T64 until he saw the smoking Jedi fighter barreling at a too steep angle toward the ground. Skywalker had been hit by multiple missiles. Judging by the angle of decent he would survive, just barely. Gently T64 pulled the helmet back onto Target's head. Later he would grieve. Later, always later. Then he stood and ran behind the extremely fast Jedi Master.

"Why me sir?" he gasped out as they neared the soon to be crash site. The plane's angle seemed to shallow a little and it plowed into the ground. A wing broke off. This was not going to be pretty. Obi-wan's pained face turned toward him as they sprinted to his old padawan.

"You were the closest, and there are not many of you left," we pulled up beside the smoking craft. The cockpit clear plastic was still intact which meant he couldn't be too… dead. There really wasn't a different word he could use. Kenobi used the force to jerk it off and fling it away. The speed showed a panic his face did not portray.

There he was strapped in the seat, forehead pressed to the control panel. Unconscious, but thankfully breathing. Training took over.

"You need to get him out of there. This thing could blow any second." Kenobi nodded and closed his eyes. He splayed his hands and held his arms out in front of him. Slowly Anakin floated from the wrinkled metal. His arm was at an odd angle. Broken. Ribs too, most likely. There was a gash on his forehead and it covered his face in blood. There were also tears in his gloves and blood seeping out from them. Amber display glass fragments are all over the floor. The impact must have shoved his fist right through the displays. The joystick was snapped in half. Obi-wan laid Anakin down a few meters away and T64 immediately began the work. He did not even look up as Obi-wan force shoved the crumpled ship down its landing track or as the ground shook with its detonation.

_Take out your x-ray scanner. His right arm is broken in three places. Eight ribs are broken. Stress fracture right leg. Dislocated left shoulder. Pop it back in. No skull fractures. Switch to magnetic resonance imaging. Lungs are okay. Heart is okay. He has a very bad concussion. That explains his unconsciousness Check his pupils. Okay they're shrinking, he isn't blind. Administer pain killer to neck. Administer a fluid drain to skull. Line up leg bone and wrap. Activate plastering. Line up upper arm. Wrap. Line up lower arm. Wrap. Ribs, how I am I going to fix that? He's waking up, oh- _

"Uhhhh," the General moaned and his eye lids flickered. Then he blinked and revealed bright blue eyes. He moved to sit up and let out a shout as he put weight on his arm. If he didn't stay still T64 was going to have to administer an immobilizer. He told Skywalker so. T64 didn't believe he heard him. He applied bacta and a wound closer to Anakin's forehead so it wouldn't scar. He wasn;t going to clean the blood off. That didn't really matter. The issue at the moment was the gloves. Jedi healed differently than normal beings or clones anyway. It would be catastrophic to his hands if the plastic was healed in the skin. He really needed surgery. But tweezers and his imaging device were going to have to do. T64 checked to make sure there wasn't any glass in the tears before he removed the gloves. Then he carefully began working out the glass. He found a large piece and took it out. There was an intake of breath from above him and he watched the general bite his lip and look at the dust filled sky. A blue light saber could be seen flicking through the droids. Ventress was nowhere to be seen. T64 heard the shout of troopers as a squad ran by. The army was forming up again and pressing forward. The base seemed much closer than it had before the crash. They were winning again, as he heard from his helmet com. Encouraging shouts were flying back and forth. They were going to take this base. But he was busy right now. There were things he had to do. Like save the chosen one's hands. The fragment pile was growing steadily. There were no more noises from Anakin. The painkiller must have made its way through his blood stream. There were a few slivers left but they would have to be removed with surgery.

"Trooper, what is my status?" questioned Skywalker in a strained tone. Maybe painkillers didn't work on Jedi.

"Three breaks right arm. Dislocation left shoulder. Stress fracture right leg. Eight broken ribs. No punctures. Severe concussion. Minor head injury. I still have not determined the status of your hands sir. I have managed to remove many of the glass fragments but you will require surgery. You also have eight broken ribs which need wrapping so I must move you into a sitting position," he nods and braces himself. T64 assists him and is surprised that he doesn't make a single noise of complaint. There is much internal bruising and weakness. T64 feels if he let go of Skywalker he would fall back again. Carefully he wraps his chest as tight as he can without removing his clothing. That was not an option on the battle field. He also fashions a sling.

"Thank you…" he leaves a space for the name.

"T64 sir." He replied and helps him to stand; making sure no weight is put on his right leg. Normally he would want the man to remain still. But he was droid bait out here. As a burst of inspiration he grabs the comlink off the ruined gloves. They need a gunship down here now. So he orders one hearing the surprise in the clone's voice, who answers,

"On it."

"You don't have a name?" He manages to choke out as they move slowly to the pickup point.

"Never knew anyone long enough for them to give me one sir," he replies and slowly lowers him to the ground again. This time he can't hold back the groan of pain. T64 remains with him, guarding him from the stray droid. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Skywalker check his lightsaber, much like he had checked his blaster before this battle. Before the last man of a great squadron had fallen. More dust is added to the atmosphere as the gun ship begins to touch down. A set of doctors rush out with a stretcher. A medical droid waits inside.

"Careful, his condition is unstable," it tones. They easily lift him into the stretcher and push him into the ship. T64 waits in the storm and salutes the ship as it lifts away from the battle. He knows the General will live to fight again.

The front lines still roar with battle as T64 alternates between medic and normal clone. The vicious cycle is almost over. The walls are but a blaster shot away. That's when it happens. Out of the yellow air comes a bright red bolt. It slams itself into his chest, throwing him off his feet. It's in his heart; he takes one more breath before he no longer can. The red blood stops coming to his brain. The same color as the separatist's death.

_Hey Target, guess we'll get to know each other better after all…_

Anakin is walking again. He really wanted to an hour ago, but he was in surgery for his hands. He flexed them. They all seemed to be in working order. His arm was still in the sling and his ribs were still wrapped, but his head was getting better and his concussion was going down. He wanted to thank the medic that prevented him from needing to replace digits in his hand. He grabbed a random white shoulder.

"Trooper, do you know a brother called T64? A medic," the helmeted face doesn't hesitate a reply.

"No medic's survived the battle sir," is the crisp even reply. Anakin nods, hiding the slight shock he feels.

"That will be all," he answers and turns away. The clone continues on his journey, nameless in the eyes of the republic.


	2. Chapter 2

So this is what it feels like to have your leg blown off in battle. It had never happened to him before though he had seen it happen to his brothers. Well that was stupid. Of course it hadn't happened to him before. Most of the men just died right there on the field from blood loss or trauma or some other horrible thing that came from looking down and missing something that tends to be important. He would have died too if it hadn't been for a medic. He never got his name. When he had been screaming on the ground in fear and pain the red plus had just appeared out of nowhere.

"Water," he had croaked. That was the one thing he needed. Then he could pass on knowing he died valiantly in battle. To his utter surprise the medic replied no. What came next was even more shocking.

"You're going to live brother. I will not have another one die under my hands!" even through the helmet, 290Cn could feel the fire in his gaze. The pain there, the desperation fluttered like a flag in explosions. He was new. Had to be to still feel that way. Otherwise battling was your life and transporting was a wonderful dream that ended too fast. Either night came or another battle. The older ones had stopped screaming at night. It was just thrashing. The new ones still shouted. Sometimes orders. Most of the time not.

"Water," he croaked again. His body was just one big ache. Why couldn't he wiggle his toes. Now he chuckled darkly at his own foolishness. He had no toes. The blood staining his armor red was his own. Not the dead man's next to him, or the dust mixed with the droids oil. It was his death.

This time the clone did not reply. He just fiddled around with some scanner and bacta. Don't waste your time he wanted to say. He was going to die slowly and painfully and there was nothing you could do about it. That's when he gave him the pain killer. His eyes were wide in a second shock. Painkiller was so rarely used on clones like him. Maybe they would use them on Captain Rex or Commander Cody, but not a mere field trooper like himself. But there was no time to thank him for the needle in his neck. As he stood up a rain of droid fire ripped through the area. It hit him smack in the heart. No surviving that. Not in a million standard years. He had been thrown back, his helmet tumbling off and revealing long hair. They didn't even have the decency to wait a second and buzz cut it? He mumbled something about a target before his eyes rolled back in his head and he died. Now he had to dead men next to him. He tried not to think about when there were three dead men next to one another. He focused on the dust cloud hovering above him to keep his mind off one of the most heartened clones he'd ever met just dying in the dust. There was no medic to tend to him. Only he had witnessed his death. He didn't even have a name to remember. 290Cn had at one time had a name. His group in training had given it to him. But they were all dead now. They had all passed a very long time ago. He had been lucky if you wanted to put it that way. But without them to call him by his name it had slowly slipped from his memory like a man forgetting to talk when he is alone on a deserted island. If you asked him too he probably could, but it would remind him of his life before he was alone. And that was just too painful.

It would hurt even more than his damn missing leg. After the medic's death his memories were just a blur of dim recognition. He vaguely remembers a set of white armor waving down a stretcher.

"We got us a live one!" Then nothing until he woke with a jolt to a disturbingly white medical center on one cruiser or another. It was too late to care now. This would be his dying ship anyway. What good was a clone with one leg? That's right, absolutely zero. Oh they would come up with something. He died of blood loss, or physiological trauma. Maybe they'd even admit they killed him but of course because he was so crazed he was a threat to himself and others. There had been whispered rumors in the barracks late at night.

"Sonny didn't die from head trauma. I was talking to him from the next bed trying not to stare at his missing arm. The next day he was gone," of course 290Cn didn't respond. He didn't talk much to anyone. Even his commanding officer barely received a nod. He doubted he even see Cody again.

Across the suffocating white medi-bay General Obi-wan Kenobi was talking with the conscious patients. The clones all had this awe in their eyes as he spoke with him. No matter what clones said about Jedi behind closed doors, they were impressive. If 290Cn hadn't been about to die he would have been too. But now he was only jealous of the Jedi master's ability to stay alive. He envied the capability to not have a scratch after a battle where so many of his brothers died. So when he came to his bed he would tell him so. He would tell him what he thought. His dying proclamation.

"How are you trooper?" asked Obi-wan as he came to his bedside. He studiously avoided looking at the mess where his leg should be.

"Fine, for someone about to be decommissioned," he knew Obi-wan was expected a good sir, or a just fine sir, or a thank-you so much for visiting me sir, but a clone in you vast army. Not a blatant statement that he was being killed by his own side.

"You are going into surgery trooper. The medical droids are going to replace your leg with a robotic one," he said, redish beard moving with his lips.

"Yes I am sir. Do you really believe I'll come out of it?" he asked. There was no hope in his voice. It was dead and flat of those expecting termination.

"With my entire heart trooper," he said with what was supposed to be a reassuring smile.

"And do you believe this war is a worthy cause?"

"I would not fight it if I thought otherwise," he said it so confidently. He was so sure of himself.

"Well," said 290Cn and he turned and looked into the blue gray eyes for the first time. His own multicolored irises swam with what the general determined as tears. So he was taken aback by the tone of his voice.

"Tell that to my brothers who lie buried on that battle field. Tell them the war is worth it! That dying for something is worth it! That being killed is worth one hundred percent the payoff in the end," he paused and took a breath, face furious. His hand clutched Kenobi's wrist.

"Tell that to the medic who died saving my life! Tell HIM this is worth it! He died for me FOR ME!" he shouted. Then his voice got soft and broken. "He could have just left me behind or given me the water and moved to another less hopeless case. I'm no captain or general or even a sniper. I'm just a lowly field trooper…" he trailed off. Then he actually began to cry. His grip tightened on Kenobi. "They didn't even take the time to cut his hair. They just threw him on the field like he was a sacrifice in a game. He died right next to me because he was too kind to move on. Because he was too kind to realize what a damn bad move it was!" the tears stain his hospital sheet. Obi-wan doesn't move or say anything. A medical droids camera's turn towards him and he begins to roll over. A needle appears in its grasp.

"Excuse me sir, but this man is mentally unstable. He needs to be sedated. Excuse me sir, but this man is mentally unstable. He needs to be sedated," its tinny voice drones. Panic shows in 290Cn's eyes.

"TELL THAT CADET THAT IT WAS WORTH IT!" he shouts just as the needle plunges into his arm. Kenobi doesn't move as his head lolls back and his grip loosens before totally disappearing. One does not need to be a Jedi to know he is not unconscious.

Slowly the orange haired general turns to the clone in the left bed.

"Did you know this brothers name?" he asks the identical man with a minor injury compared to the silent one next to him.

"He had one once sir. No one remembers it now," the clone does not elaborate. He turns back to face forward. He does not rant about truth or justice. He just follows orders.

Kenobi wonders which nameless clone was truer.


End file.
